In the thick of it.

Two days later and I was a bundle of nerves on the train. I’d packed numerous outfits and planned to stay with a friend in Melbourne for the night. Exiting the train with sweaty palms and a churning stomach I made my way to a disabled toilet at DFO. I prayed that any good karma I had accumulated wasn’t about to be flushed down the loo by so selfishly occupying a disabled toilet. I tried to get ready slowly and calmly and more importantly without letting any of my stuff touch the dubious situation that was the floor. With my make up done, I put on the bright floral dress. It was strapless so I’d have to wear a cardi and it wasn’t very fitted so I felt it accentuated how large I was, but hey wasn’t that the point?  I decided that the colours would reflect my “bright” and fun personality and at the very least might assist in standing out from the presumed crowd that would be there. All hot and bothered, I began grunting my way into a pair of Bridget Jones style, sucky-in undies when I suddenly paused for a second and recalled where I was headed. On this one occasion it might pay not to try and appear smaller. Having spent far too long a time in a public toilet than I was comfortable with, I gingerly made my way out of the toilet and down the street to the audition. I passed a couple of large people sitting out front and sized them up, wondering if they were there competing for a spot and then I realized how early I was. I set off around the block and found a spot to sit down and paint my nails (or various parts of my fingers as it turned out) with my shaking hands.

With no more insecure adjustments to my appearance left to make, I eventually mustered the courage to go back. I met a lovely girl Terri in the foyer; we chattered nervously and discovered that coincidently we came from the same town. Others began to arrive and soon my stomach started churning so much it may as well have got up and walked out for me. I stood up from the couch to do one of several nervous wees (yep that’s right I was still going, only now that’s all I had left to give), when the button from my dress flew off and skipped across the floor. “Typical” I first thought. I’m so fat my dress can’t even stay done up for the audition. I decided instead of getting upset I’d take it as a good omen – clearly I was meant to be there… needed to be there.

After what seemed like an eternity, 5 of us were led up to a room to have our photo taken, headshot, full body and profile. We were introduced to 3 producers and one by one the cameraman filmed us as they asked us questions about our lives, fears, dreams, dating history etc. I thought my heart was going to jump out of my chest as Terri passed me the microphone and the producers eyes fixated on mine. She had a story…. An interesting story and with a unique spin…. “Shit I didn’t have a story!” The producers perused my application, one commenting on my retro look and likeness to Amy Winehouse. I was so nervous I could hear myself stumbling on words and rambling without thinking. I made a joke… it wasn’t funny, I blushed and fumbled along. It felt like I’d been out of my body when I handed on the microphone. I hoped that whatever was next, when they spoke to us one on one I’d do better, I’d be more calm… a little witty…. perhaps even entertaining.

I half listened to the people that spoke after me, relating in some way to each of their stories. I kicked myself for information they gave that I’d forgotten. But it was ok because one guy had a girlfriend, they wanted singles…so he couldn’t go through, one girl looked half the size of me…she didn’t “need” to go through, another girl had two knee reconstructions…surely she wouldn’t go through. Suddenly everyone got up and they were thanking us for coming in, panic set in as I realized that was it, those short few minutes was all I had to show my personality and let my desire for this opportunity shine. I couldn’t help feeling an overwhelming sense of disappointment in myself, a feeling I had become accustomed to these days. I walked out handing over a compilation of photos I had put together that showed myself gorging on a variety of foods. I mumbled a quick explanation to KDV about someone suggesting I bring photos and reluctantly walked out knowing deep down I hadn’t been me, more importantly I hadn’t been anyone worthy of being seen on tv.

Terri had waited for me in the foyer; we exchanged facebook details and walked to the corner together both in disbelief that it was over. We spoke throw away lines like “What were the chances?” and “I didn’t think I’d get this far”, both secretly hiding small hopes from each other. I wandered up to the station and caught the metro to Liz’s house. She made me dinner and introduced me to her new fella. I tried to politely engage in conversation but couldn’t stop thinking about the audition. I was happy for her as she gushed about her new romance and recent weight loss, but I couldn’t concentrate, I found myself overwhelmed by disappointment and self loathing. This was my turn and I blew it.

Later that night I wrote KDV an email expressing my regret and went to bed…but did not sleep. The next morning the reply “Thank you Aimee, I hope you got some sleep” waited for me in my inbox. After much analysis over the response I decided it was a good thing, even if it was a “thank you but you still didn’t make it you pestering loon”, she’d at least been kind enough to reply. I walked to the train and tried not to go over it all again, tried not to hope too much. Now all I had to do was wait 2 weeks to hear if I’d made the final 40. 

2 weeks you’ve gotta be kidding me!!

Later Taters xxx

Fat chance.

I know I’m far from being Australia’s Next Top Model. I’m no Beauty, no Geek or a potential Farmers Wife. I don’t have the Xfactor nor do I Think I Can Dance. I’m not a Master Chef or anyone’s Idol, but I do believe I could be the next Biggest Loser.

This realisation all started on September 20^th with a random phone-call. I thought it was a telemarketer, trying to sell me something that “promised to change my life”. We’d been inundated with these kind calls and one kept asking for our bank account details. I answered the phone in a surly sort of tone and prepared myself to hurl abuse down the receiver. This time it wasn’t a telemarketer, but what casting agent K was offering, was most definitely a life changing opportunity. She’d read my application and was calling with an audition for The Biggest Loser (TBL).

Earlier that year I was contacted by my friend Erin, we’d met on a Scottish Christmas bus tour a couple of years ago and with the help of such stupendous advances in the world of modern technology (and by this I mean facebook) we’d managed to stay in contact from time to time. In her message Erin told me she was looking for a fourth person to be a member of her “family” in the next season of TBL. When she told me that she’d been close to making it through previous auditions, a flicker of hope sparked somewhere deep inside me, I got to thinking maybe this time I might really have a chance. I had applied for TBL in previous years but never heard anything beyond submitting the application, here though was someone who had. Without hesitation I downloaded the application, completed it and pressed send.

My housemate Jenni stared at me quizzically while I spoke with K and though I’d told nobody that I had applied for the show I couldn’t think of a cover story fast enough and confessed to her what the call was about. We sat there for a couple of hours talking, both of us in astonishment, her because I’d applied and me because I’d made it through to the next round. We discussed in detail what it would mean if I got on the show, what I’d have to do. Was I, a girl who went to extreme lengths to keep my weight and issues secret really prepared to stand up in bike shorts and a crop top and expose myself to an entire nation? If it meant finally achieving my goal weight then …YES! As we delved deeper I ran intermittently to the bathroom. I felt sick and excited all at once, it seemed like the weight loss process had already begun with several nervous poo’s.

Later Tatters xxx

Life on arse.

This is not my first attempt to lose weight, you name it I’ve done it! Numerous weight loss programs, tablets to reduce fat absorption, tablets to increase metabolism, prescription drugs, gyms, social sport, aquasize, diet shakes, etc the list goes on and on and here I am worse than ever and at my heaviest.

I guess I should share with you a brief summary of how I came to be here, my life thus far. I’m sure as we get to know each other I’ll find time to fill you in on many personal anecdotes, but for now here’s the short version.

I used to dance calisthenics, ballet, and ballroom. I performed in local theatre companies too, but then started putting on weight as a young teen and my mum and dad tried to take the tough love approach and were at times pretty hard on me in their efforts to help - I'm the eldest of 5 girls and the only one who’s been really overweight. I'm a rather large number on the scales whereas in a quick comparison, my sisters all weigh close to half my number.  My parents meant well, we are a very close and loving family, but I do remember times like when on our way home from school, I was dropped k’s from home and I had to walk the rest of the way as I watched the rest of the family drive off. I was served different meals sometimes and desert was not allowed. This led to secretly eating food when I was home alone in anticipation of being deprived later. Unfortunately I started this habit at around 13 years of age and still find myself eating secretively in my car or pre-eating before meals so it looks like I don’t eat so much when I can’t avoid eating in front of others.

Some of the bullying in my teens was pretty hard to take but I'm sure others had much worse. It was all the usual taunts, rotten food thrown at me even my hair set alight at one point, but through all this I had good friends and tried to make the most of everything else.

Anyway after a few blunders in the “what will I be when I grow up” phase of my life I ended up at university studying teaching. Eeek school wasn’t great the first time round and now I’ve gone back for more. Every placement I would have at least one kid ask if I was pregnant or say something that made me, a grown woman, later break down in tears once I got home (or the car park if I couldn’t make it). I’ve just finished uni now so this couldn't be a better time for me to refocus and start a fresh new chapter in my life.

Later Taters xxx

Does this blog make me look fat?

I have spent what seems an eternity concealing my weight from others. My BMI, BMR, Kg’s, Measurements, Bio-Age etc are all numbers I have kept hidden from the judgement of others. I recall a time in high school when we were expected to write our fitness stats in the front of our phys ed book. We were to record and compare our progress throughout the course. Our weight and height measurements were to be included. One of my "friends" had been peer pressured into a reconnaissance mission like no other, that was to obtain my book and reveal my weight, something I had always been very secretive about. He opted for the classic distraction technique and made a sloppy grab for my book mid conversation. I snatched it back as quick as a flash and clung to it desperately as he tried to pry it from my hands. After much struggling he managed to rip it from my grasp, he opened it and glanced at the number on the page before I stole it back. Tears started to form in my eyes as he rushed over to the group of girls on the other side of the room. I tried to blink them away as I heard them laugh. I felt my face burning and then suddenly someone said “You idiot Joel, she can’t weigh 154 kilograms”... He’d read my height. I scribbled over those numbers in that book until pieces of cardboard began lifting up from the page.

This brings me to my current dilemma with this blog. I am at a cross roads, I am conflicted about exposing my feelings, my numbers…myself. Michelle Bridges says the first step in getting real about your weight issue is acknowledgement. This blog is meant to be my acknowledgement and attempt at creating some form of accountability for myself. It also offers the opportunity to cheat a little bit because of its capacity to be completely anonymous. This is a tempting option to me. I can’t decide how public I am willing to make this yet. Would I use it only as a therapeutic tool for myself? Keep my page private as some kind of online diary or journal? I could always publish it, but withhold photos and use pseudonyms in place of real names to avoid really put myself too far out there? Or perhaps I should just suck it up, use the potential embarrassment and humiliation of friends and family coming across my site as motivation to succeed.

I feel it’s important that I take some ownership over this process. I think I have decided I will not attempt to disguise my identity but that I am not ready to expose my weight related stats just yet. Once I’ve reached some goals and am headed steadily in the right direction, I would like to think I might be proud enough to disclose some of these details to you all.

So having said that what is to follow will be me…unedited and in the raw…eek!

Later Taters xxx

To blog or not to blog? That is the question...

Hello my name is Aimee and I’m addicted to being FAT.

I am a food junkie and master of exercise avoidance.

food junk·ie n.
Omnivore obsessed with knowing where the next morsel of sustenance will come from and in what form it will take.

I am a self confessed, self indulgent, self saboteur who frequently suffers from severe cases of the shoulda coulda woulda’s.

But that’s it, I’ve had enough. I’m here in a desperate attempt to win the battle against my inner coach potato.

I read somewhere that…

"Unless you're prepared to make a change in the present, your future can only reflect your past".

So here I am trying to create a new future for myself …again.

The idea has been suggested to me (on more than one occasion) that being overweight is my choice, that if I really wanted it badly enough I would have done something about it by now. This used to make me so incredibly mad. The supposed payoffs I gain from having lived my life in this permanent fat suit, could never compare to my imagined happiness as a healthy and socially acceptable weight.

It’s disturbing to recall what a massive role (pun intended) being massive has played in my life. Though not highly religious now, as a child I prayed to God and begged him to help me get thin. I bargained anything from good behaviour to sacrificing various pleasures. I remember wishing on dandelions, birthday candles, and the first stars I saw at night, always for the same thing. I imagined being able transform with the twitch of my nose like Samantha on Bewitched.

I developed weird obsessive behaviours from a young age too. I would work out on my dad’s gym equipment, threw away my lunches at school, often ate in secret and for a time I religiously sculled 3 litres of water in one go before bed. These are only a few of the strange rituals I would engage in from time to time. Many of these habits over the years have manifested into behaviours that closely resemble some kind of disorder.

I’m not exactly sure about this blogging thing yet, but I desperately need some kind of outlet for my internal dialogue. In the past I’ve kept numerous exercise books to record my weight loss attempts. Most of the time they are filled with the cold hard facts and figures, perhaps even a drawing or two depicting areas I need to work on or what I want to look like. I’ve been known to spend hours on end trawling internet weight loss program sites, visiting “before and after” pictures, reading success stories, researching surgery sites and reading product reviews. I’ve spent a heap of time in the magazine aisle of the supermarket doing the same. If there’s a weight watchers transformation story I identify with, I’ll buy the magazine and scrutinise it a million times over. The health and exercise section in bookshops are the same for me and as you might expect, anything weight related is a must see on TV.

I could prattle on for ages about my weight…and sometimes I do. I see my friends eyes glaze over and sense their internal groan “Oh no really…again”.  But for me it’s all consuming, it’s been that way for years; I’m trapped on this accelerating carousel, reaching out for a sick bag. 

So now I’m here and the purpose of this blog is to create an environment where I can best voice my weight related thoughts, experiences and fixations to those who choose to listen. If I was to be truly honest, I also hope that it becomes a place that documents my own triumph over this battle of the bulge and inspires others along the way. I have accepted I have a problem and am eager to change. I've failed many attempts over many years. What will make it any different this time? I don’t know? What I do know, is that I do not choose to be fat, being fat is instead about the choices I haven’t been making.

I can’t promise the reading from here on in will be in anyway stimulating or profound. However if thus far you’ve fought the urge to whip off your fat pants and hang yourself, I commend you and challenge you to meet me here often. 


If you want, we could make a pact to do this together, go on I dare you…put down the fork and step away from the buffet…

Later Taters xxx